Friday, May 24, 2013

xTHE CAUSEx

This girl who works for, or is part of, an upcoming publication wrote me to ask if I'd submit to said publication. The thing was they only publish fiction. Despite the title of my blog, I mostly write (sort of) true/trve stories.

There was a deadline and I spent a lot of this past week trying to meet it. Because I'm slower at writing than people might think. But I remembered the girl telling me they would publish stuff that already existed on the Internet. Although I could give them temporary exclusivity for more money.

Anyway, I submitted and thought about the money. Then I thought about my piece. It might not make it in at all. I'm also really impatient when it comes to this shit. And my story is both anti-capitalist and anti-"anti-capitalist." The money shouldn't matter.

Especially because this is the most inauthentic story I've written in a while due to the fact that it's narrated by a lesbian high school student and I have no idea what it feels like to be that person. However, everything that takes place in this story is basically something I'd want to see in a porno. I don't know that it's possible to direct a porno like this unless I did it through Offbeatr or something. If you'd contribute to a crowd-funded XXX version of this, maybe you should say so in the comments section. Because that will make me more likely to do it.

In the meantime, read the fucking thing.

xTHE CAUSEx

“Bro, you like smoking crack with
your girlfriend? How 'bout I curb-stomp your cock?”

The substance wasn't even rock-like.
More leafy green. But it made for an interesting predicament. The boy
could call out, “Liar!” and surely die. Or he could go along with
the allegations and get his penis stomped to mush.

The boy kept his mouth shut, which I
thought wise. Then we held him at knife point and took down his
pants.

We used to do this with guns until
Zeke pointed out how bourgeoisie it was. Considering most mass
shootings were carried out by white, hetero males. And the fact that,
socioeconomically, we had nothing in common with urban gangbangers.

Except that we were – in many ways –
a gang.

It all started with our after-school
LGBT club. Prior to the cause, it was just a room at the back
of campus. A place for condoms, counseling, and homo-community.

Then Zeke arrived.

If he'd wore a jersey, Zeke would have
been prom king every year of his life. But he hated prom and never
played sports. Only lifted, ran, and fucked every boy he could. Which
wasn't hard. Throughout Woodlake High's history, there'd never been a
more highly prized cock.

Even the girl-on-girl girls – which
I belonged to – passed rumors of his homemade porn. Gay, male
erotica was the perfect way to externalize our sex without getting
grossed out by bros. Besides, we wanted to see what all the
fuss was about.

Anyway, Zeke laid out the cause
in a pretty clear way. “If you want to change the world, don't be
like your parents. They're the ones that fucked it up.” He told us
how heterosexuality fueled capitalism. “Without new consumers,
there is no one to exploit. It's simple. Don't breed more consumers.”
It made sense. And we weren't old enough to find it derivative.

The difference between Zeke and past
high school revolutionaries was his stance on drugs. “The problem
with putting shit in your body is not that it will kill you. If you
want to do the world that kind of favor, more power to you. I'm
talking about laziness and stupidity. In terms of being a less
productive worker, I understand the appeal. But look at your parents.
They thought it was rebellious and 'counter-culture' to get fucked
up. Then they grew old and had you. Because of the economic crisis,
many of them still sell drugs. They profit off a plant that belongs
to the earth. Or they send money to other countries, which fuels
cartels and genocide.”

“I thought death was a good thing,”
said a twink from the crowd.

Zeke answered, “Only for the elite
and the consumer. You and I are consumers. But we are selfish and
don't want to die. So hopefully we use our lives to change the world
for the better. When I talk of genocide, I refer to the third world.
In the third world, there are no consumers. Only the elite and
victims.”

If one got to know Zeke better, he
confessed that the lazy and stupid part had more to do with being a
terrible lay. He preferred an army of fit, sober bottoms.

But there was legitimacy to his
straightXedge creed. “Drugs lead to spirituality. Spirituality
leads to religion. There's nothing more heteronormative than that.
Pharmacological hallucinations often suggest a purpose to life.
Consequently, a desire forms to propagate.”

Of course, there were additions to his
manifesto. But that was the gist. At school, he recruited. At nights,
we took to the street.

The kid who got his cock stomped
wasn't the first. It's why he let it happen without protest. Others
ended up in the hospital for more than penile reconstruction surgery.
They'd be caught at shows or parties, doping up their partners in
hopes of catching that “pussy prize.”

In the beginning, I understood the
excuse to put up a fight. No one outside our circle had heard of
Zeke. But when half the football team had their balls turned to dust,
I didn't get the continued machismo. I guess boys had to prove their
strength. We had to keep showing them it wasn't enough.

When it came to the girls, though, we
had a problem. The female breeders were just as complicit in risking
a pregnancy. Feminism taught us to treat them equally. But misogyny
was old-world stuff. Some of that shit our parents dished out.

Zeke admitted he let the girls off
easy. He couldn't figure a way around it. “I'm a proud fairy, but
still a man,” he'd say. “It's out of place to enact violence on
the historically oppressed.”

Some of the lesbians asked if they
could fuck up the straight girls. Zeke thought for a while and
answered, “You shouldn't have to ask me.” Then, “I'd rather not
know about it.”

It sucked for us girls because we
didn't have Zeke's support in the case of repercussions. Ultimately,
that was what kept the whole gang from going to jail. People were
scared of him. But a bunch of angry dykes acting on our own? We were
few in number and not so much a threat.

I liked being part of something larger
than myself. In some ways, I bought into the cause. Though the
longer it went on, the more it felt unfair.

Zeke liked fucking boys. So boys got
all the attention. At the after-school meetings, his favorite piece
of ass (for the week) spoke first about whatever issue he felt
important. Then it was some other cocksucker. Eventually it would be
the girls' turn and the trans community would stand up first. Young
ones in high school with their dicks still attached. Without any rank
to speak of, I still felt at the bottom.

So senior year, I got an idea. Closer
to graduation, I decided to make it happen.

The day I caught Natalie under the
bleachers was the first time it seemed possible. There were no
bottles and no smell of smoke. But she was writhing around on the
floor and laughing. The slipperiest dealer on campus laid beside her.
We all knew he sold pills but never found the proof to beat his ass.

I approached and the dealer almost
freaked. Natalie told him not to worry. “It's just Dylan. She's
cool.”

“You're rolling,” I said to her.

She freaked briefly. “What? How do
you know?”

“For one, you just confirmed it.”

“So what? Zeke won't touch me. I
have a vagina.”

“But he'll cut you off. And if I
tell the girls, we might just cut you.”

Natalie invited me over after school.
Said her pad was the safest place to talk.

I arrived to find her friend, Stokely,
on the couch. The girl had something pressed to her lips. She lit the
thing on fire and inhaled.

“Jesus, you get high too?”

“There's more than one way to change
the world,” said Stokely. “Besides, I like my parents. They give
me drugs.”

“Zeke's right about the spiritual
part, you know,” said Natalie. “When I take acid, I can see your
aura. I've looked at the sky and found mandalas in the clouds.
Patterns exist in all living things. That knowledge gives purpose to
life. My purpose is to love.”

“We haven't turned into breeders,”
said Stokely. “I mean, we've discussed having kids. Nat and I want
to adopt.”

“This is blowing my mind,” I said.
“Why do you keep coming to meetings?”

“With drugs, yeah. You used to have
to pay for it. That kid who gave me molly... He actually just gave it
to me. I gave him something too. Let him put his hands down my pants.
Acted like I was getting off so he felt better.”

My jaw dropped and I could hardly
speak. “How... can you justify that?”

Natalie attempted to school me. “Even
Zeke says not to put down sex workers.”

“Yeah, WORKERS! You said it was a
gift.”

“Well, I guess the whole thing was
more like a barter system.”

Since a wave of gay-straight alliance
groups were popping up across the country, Zeke thought it a good
idea to let heteros in on the cause. As long as they swore an
oath not to breed.

“I understand if you're straight,”
he told the converts. “You can't help it. But that doesn't mean you
can just bust inside a girl or let a boy fill you up. There's an
order to our sexual conduct. Dick-in-pussy intercourse is at the
bottom. Punishable by death. Same goes for any act that might result
in the birth of a new consumer.”

There was a story about two straight
guys who went to him for a pass. They wanted to fuck the same girl
together. Zeke recommended they jerk each other off first, or at
least make out.

“Okay, whatever,” said the first
one. “But can we try a DP?”

“Both of you will be in her ass,”
said Zeke.

“That's the only way?” asked the
second.

“Otherwise we'll kill you.”

“What if she's not into it?” asked
the first.

“Not my problem.”

They agreed to try it out and rumor
had it the girl was even down. But Zeke was cautious and sent a spy.

The day after, one of boys went
missing and the other came to school in a cast. We didn't exactly
know who the girl was, but one of the only straight chicks who came
to meetings suddenly stopped. I heard she tried to kill herself after
Zeke's de facto hitmen botched her abortion.

Zeke alluded to the severity of
breeder transgressions – even when considered mistakes. “When one
plays with fire, he not only risks heat, but immolation. It's a quick
slip from one hole to the other. Inebriation is the lubricant of the
damned.”

“Feminism reminded us that we're
equals. We should make our own decisions,” said Stokely.

“Even if they're stupid decisions?”
I asked.

“Even if.”

“We like his politics but not Zeke
himself,” said Natalie. “If we let a man tell us what to do,
nothing's changed. Patriarchy is patriarchy. Even if 'the man' is a
fag.”

My contribution was, “I agree
completely. But what should we do?”

“I thought that's why you came here:
to pitch your idea,” said Natalie.

“Yeah, but my idea was just to do
something.” For the sake of honesty, I added, “I guess I'd like
to destroy Zeke.”

Natalie and Stokely looked to each
other. “Our love forbids his murder.”

“That's not what I meant,” I said.

“I suppose we'll subscribe to the
idea of a certain kind of 'tough love,'” mused Stokely.

To keep up appearances, we attended
Zeke's next party. It was mostly thrown together for boys to hook up.
Like usual, Zeke put on a show in the living room.

Two teenage Adonises knelt and Zeke
opened their mouths. He took turns fucking them. Then turned the boys
over to stretch out their asses.

When he was done, Zeke approached us
naked and smiling. He said, “You can use my parents' room,” like
he was doing us a favor.

“No thanks, we're just talking,” I
told him.

It was actually difficult to do this
(i.e. sit around) without getting bored. We'd learned from raids on
other high school parties that they were supposed to be a place to
learn one's limits. Vomiting was tolerable. So was sex that might not
be remembered. It meant you could be loud and obnoxious, and blame it
on something else. With our responsibility intact, the whole premise
felt constricting.

“I sincerely doubt that. Either your
parents' names are on the deed or it belongs to the bank,” said
Natalie. “But that doesn't really matter. You taught us not to
respect property rights. We belong here just as much as you do.”

“'A system designed to protect
private property over the rights of individuals is inherently evil,'”
I told him. “Those were your words, right?”

“Well, not originally,” he
stammered.

“Even so, I think we'll stay.”

“And if I refuse to be tied up?”
he asked.

“Dylan will try to rape you on her
own,” said Natalie. “I won't interfere. But I'll be here as a
witness if you attempt to fight her.”

“Consider the oppressive nature of
your violence as a white, privileged male. We are akin to the sexual
proletariat. Your rape will be a revolution,” Stokely said from
behind the camera.

“But I'm gay,” cried Zeke.

“So don't be an asshole,” I told
him. “We can do it on your bed.”

“I can talk my way out of this,”
said Zeke as I tied his wrist to the bed frame. “You're just making
yourselves look bad.”

“Is there a hierarchy to the cause?”
I asked.

“Of course,”
he replied. “Junkies and breeders are at the bottom. But you
already knew that.”

“And for those
of us who are neither?” I slipped into my harness while waiting for
Zeke's reply.

“What do you
want me to say? If you're upset by the way I run things, you could
have just talked to me.”

“That's the
problem,” said Natalie. “You run things.”

“Cooperatively!”
he bit back.

I
strapped on the biggest dildo from my collection and spit in his
hole. “It was a cooperative decision to send a couple of sophomores
to perform an abortion?”

“The
cause prohibits the
birth of new consumers,” he said without flinching. Even as I
slipped the rubber cock up inside him.

“What the
fuck!?!”

“It's not my
first time,” laughed Zeke.

“That's
interesting. You act like a top in public. We've been to all your
parties. You've never once bent over to take it. Wonder why that is.”

“You want the
truth?” he asked. “I'm guilty of wanting to look butch. Big deal.
I love cock. I love it in my mouth and ass.”

“It's like,
symbolically, you want us to consider you a straight man,” said
Natalie.

“What?” Zeke rolled his eyes.

“This is stupid,” I said. “He's
not getting raped. We have to do something else.”

“In that case, I need a smoke
break,” said Stokely.

Zeke started to protest so we put a
gag in his mouth.

“Is restricting speech considered
'violence?'” asked Natalie.

“Uh...” Stokely said, then packed
her bowl.

“Do you want a hit?” the girls
asked me.

“I haven't smoked since middle
school,” I admitted.

“How'd you like it?”

“It made me feel good. And after,
depressed.”

“I find it allows for a different
train of thought,” said Natalie. “When you're stuck on a certain
way of thinking... like now... it helps to come at things from a new
perspective. If you want a huge paradigm shift, I have some stuff
that will really flip your mind.”

“Guess it wouldn't hurt to try
some,” I said. “Just the weed.” They passed and I inhaled. One
puff made me cough like I had the flu.

“You know what would be awesome?”
said Stokely. “We should get Zeke stoned before you fuck him.”

Natalie started laughing and
approached the naked boy. “Turn on the camera.”

Stokely opened the viewfinder and
pressed record. Zeke's face
was inundated with smoke. It was the first time he looked to be
struggling. Even I got in a laugh.

“Let's do this
for a while,” said Natalie.

Slowly, we
hot-boxed the room.

“I think Zeke's
problem is a lack of spirituality. If he comes inside you, Dylan,
he's going to experience the creation of life. That's got to be
powerful. Think of the energy released at a moment like that. All
those little sperms flying towards your womb.” Stokely kept on
talking.

All I could say
was, “Whoa,” and maintain my place on the floor.

“I mean, what
have we been doing? Capitalism sucks. But people, man... People are
important. You can't just kill them because they might buy shit. I
want to buy shit. Right now I want to buy a pizza.” Stokely turned
to Zeke. “We need some money for pizza.”

Natalie took the
gag from his mouth. He didn't scream. Just said, “In that drawer,”
and, “I want some too.” The speech was slow. I'd never heard him
talk like that.

“You're a doll
for paying, Zeke,” said Stokely. “But I have a question. Do you
think you're angry at the world?”

“Wait,” said
Natalie. “I need the camera before he answers.” She fumbled with
the thing and held it to his face. “Oh my god,” she said to him.
And with such tenderness. “You're crying.”

“I can't move,”
I said aloud. Because it was almost true. “Describe it for me.”

“Let it go, baby.” Natalie held
the boy's face and coaxed the water from his eyes.

Zeke said some things about his father
and then asked for a hug. Later, he claimed that no one truly knew
him. “I think out of anyone I've ever met, you three have peered
most deeply into my soul.” The crying started up again. “I just
realized I have a soul.”

Eventually the pizza came and we took
turns feeding the boy. Everyone shed their clothes in an act of
solidarity. But we couldn't untie Zeke. Not yet.

“Are we going through with it?” I
asked.

“I think it would be best. For Zeke.
For us. To give up our orientations and our selves. All to a higher
power.” Natalie looked to the ceiling as if a portal had opened to
another plane of existence.

“Okay,” I said and untied Zeke's
left hand. The girls helped me reposition him and secure his hand
once more.

He laid on his back, ready to mount.
Except for one problem. Zeke's penis sat there, deflated and off to
one side.

“I don't know what to do with it,”
I muttered.

“It's like a magic lamp,” said
Stokely. “You hold the thing and rub it.”

Zeke closed his eyes and whispered,
“This is an abomination.”

Natalie shushed him and moved on to
the bed. She rubbed his chest and began to chant, “Om.” Stokely
joined in to make it louder.

Because the act had turned to ritual,
I felt less weird in general. It was still gross to feel his cock
grow in my palm. “Here it goes,” I said to no one in particular.
The penis slid between my labia, and Zeke and I both grimaced.

“Ewww,” he said from below me.

“Shut up,” I commanded back.

His body did nothing. So I made all
the motions. I guess it was nice to have something warm inside me.
However, nothing else about it seemed appealing. “For the cause,”
I repeated in my head. I'd forgotten what it actually meant.

Stokely took a break from her chants
to let us know the camera was running out of battery. “We don't
have much time. Someone needs to help.”

Natalie sped up her vocal rhythm and
grasped Zeke's penis at the base. She began to stroke it inside me.
Faster and faster. Eventually it burst.

I rolled off, slightly disgusted. But
I felt the energy. Everyone in the room exhaled.

“The act is done,” said Natalie.
“You've been raped with love.”

It was hard to tell if what she said
was true. I couldn't think straight. Only one thing felt certain. I
was falling asleep.

I awoke to the sound of a door
somewhere within the house. It opened, closed, and gave way to a
man's voice. “Zeke?” it said aloud.

My head felt fuzzy and I wanted
nothing more than to drift back to sleep. But suddenly, the man was
in the room and staring down at us.

“Zeke,” he said once more. The guy
looked like a father. Old and kind of yuppie-like.

“Dad,” said the boy, still tied to
his bed. “Ugh... This isn't what it looks like.”

“It looks fucking weird,” said the
father. “But... I never thought I'd get to say this. I'm proud of
you. I always thought you were a faggot.”

“What?” Zeke sounded confused. The
rest of us remained silent.

“Listen,” said the father. “I'm
going back outside. I'll take your mother out to breakfast. You get
cleaned up and make sure these girls are gone by the time we get
back.” He looked at us. “Got that, ladies?”

Everyone nodded and the father left
the room.

I spent the weekend by myself and
skipped the the first two weeks back at school. There was no way to talk
about what happened. So I tried to just forget.

Eventually the girls got in touch with
me and we watched the tape sober. I felt so stupid that I called Zeke
and apologized. He agreed to meet up so that we could burn the
evidence together.

“You know, you helped save my
relationship with my father. I mean, it's based on a lie. But at
least he talks to me.”

“I guess I'm glad to help.”
Because I didn't know what else to say.

“I'm going to follow in his
footsteps,” said Zeke, “and study economics.”

“You sound confused,” I told him.

“Well, what about you? What's your
plan once you graduate?”

“I'm going to college too. Studying
some kind of science. People say that's the only way to make money
these days. Something to do with science.”

“Is that what we've become?” asked
Zeke. “Interested in money?”

“It's how the world works. We can
pretend it doesn't, but...”

“Yeah, I know. We fought a bit to
change it, though, didn't we?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Listen, it's
hard to bring this up but I don't know when I'll see you again. I,
um, need to get an abortion.”

“Oh.” Zeke looked at the ground.
“I'll be getting some graduation money. I can pay for it.”

“Do you want to come with me?”

“Is that what you want?” he asked.

“I don't know,” I said. “I guess
you're not really a father in my eyes.”

“And you're not a breeder.”

“No,” I admitted. “I'm not.”
We passed some time not talking and I broke the silence. “I like
most of the things you had to say these past few years. The problem
was that you're kind of stuck up. And an asshole.”

“Okay,” he sighed. “Fair.”

“I'm sorry for raping you,” I told
him.

Zeke laughed. “You're not so bad.
Guess I'll see you at the abortion clinic.” And he walked away
forever.